


Everything that you could want...

by Poorhuni



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Baby as a pet name, Car Sex, F/M, Fingering, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kitten as a pet name, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, No proof reading we die like mne, death mention, mild grief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-10 13:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poorhuni/pseuds/Poorhuni
Summary: Connor has been removed from the DCPD - his replacement, your new partner - is everything the other android was, and more... He's everything that you could want, except he's not Connor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh. Yeah, so this was an idea and it was meant to be PWP - but instead, it just became, uh, this... Weird? Preamble? There was enough interest (a startling amount, actually) so I wrote them when they do sum fuk in a second chapter. And maybe a third. So - here for a story? Preamble through chapter one. PWP? Chapter 2. It doesn't need too much context. And probably chapter three bc I'm weak and y'all are thirsty.

You’d raged, you’d fought, you’d protested and in the end - you’d given in. Fowler had told you to stop acting like a child and to get out of his office - or to get the fuck out of his precinct. You were angry and hurt - as you marched back to your desk - feeling low and traitorous.

Connor - the RK800 model - had been your partner for the past few months. And in the space of a weekend, he had been recalled, disappearing from the precinct without a trace - and his replacement deployed. Having dealt with Connor for so long - and now stripped of a partner because of his departure - you were deemed the most suitable choice for the new unit. It felt like a betrayal… Connor was a machine, yes. But he had also been your partner, he’d saved your life and-

When it walks in, you’re interrupted from your thoughts - because you’re struck immediately by how much has been copied over. The new model is taller, broader and you instantly hate it for looking so much like Connor - but not being him, not at all. Its eyes, like ice chips, find you in the busy room and it’s making a beeline.

“Detective-“ It begins and impatient you cut him short.

“You’re the new model.”

“Yes. I have been sent by CyberLife to-“

“To assist in our investigations. To round up the last of the remaining deviants.”

It nods, face entirely impassive. It’s unnerving - how blank it looks, and at the same time - how sharp. Like a shark.

“So what are they calling you?”

“You may call me Connor if you w-“

“No.” You snap instantly. “I don’t.”

A pause, and it tilts its head at you. Your lip is begging you to curl it into a sneer - but instead, you remain staring the android down - scowling slightly. It nods.

“You may refer to me by my model number - RK900 - if that makes you more comfortable, Detective. Or my serial code, although that may be more difficult for you to memorise.”

God, they’ve even given it his voice. It makes you feel sick.

“Come on. Daylight’s wasting. I’m guessing you’re all caught up?”

“Yes. I have all the data from my predecessors' missions stored.”

It sounds so clinical and cold and just outright creepy that you drop your gaze as you skirt around it, heading for the door. There is no sound of footfalls that indicate its following - but you know better than that by now.

-

It’s been a long day when you pull into the precinct - glowing like a beacon as you put the car in park, gazing up at the building. For the longest time, it had been what you had aimed for - it had become a second home. But it was soiled now - with Connor gone. RK900 was competent - more than competent. Thinking it sharp had not been inaccurate. It was like a razor - faster - sharper - smarter. But every time it spoke - you couldn’t help but think about Connor and what was happening to him… How carrying on without him feels wrong - how working with his replacement feels low and dir-

“A penny for your thoughts, Detective?”

You start - because again - every time it speaks - you hear Connor for one whole second. Glancing across to it - face open and questioning - your heart almost stops - with its eyebrows raised, expression earnest and interested… It takes a second for your brain to register the differences - the eyes, the jawline, the hair colour.

“What’s happening to him?” And then, for clarity, just in case. “Connor, I mean?”

A brief frown flicks over its features and its LED glows yellow. “Well… Nothing, I would imagine. RK800 has already been decommissioned-“

“Decommissioned?”

“Dismantled.”

You suck your breath in and you feel dizzy. He’s been turned off and ripped apart. Jesus - it could have happened when you were sleeping last night, or today when you were having lunch… You don’t even bother crafting an excuse, as you scramble from your own car - chest feeling tight.

You’re alone in the staffroom before you realise it - feet carrying you on autopilot - wretching into the sink. It’s stupid, you tell yourself, to have gotten so attached to a bag of bolts. It was ridiculous to think of him as dead - when he wasn’t - when he hadn’t really been…

“Kitten - why are you crying?”

Your heart jumps into your throat and you spin, almost losing your balance. “Con-?” His name dies on your lips, and your heart stops. It is not Connor - it’s that thing again - advancing on you eyes glinting like diamonds. Your heart has found its way back to your chest and is currently trying to break past your ribs - hammering out a furious bass line. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“I called you-“

“That’s not my name!” You don’t - you can’t hear him call you that again.

“I know. But it is what he called you. Right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Connor had indeed called you that - but you hadn’t told a soul. It had been entirely fledgeling. You had figured whoever had written his subroutines had fucked up when he had suggested it. He had informed you - openly and matter of factly that it was his intention to facilitate your working relationship where possible (you had boggled at that point - what he was proposing would only make everything more complicated) and your attraction was evident. He was willing to work with you if it made things easier. And it had. Until he’d been taken away to be destroyed.

“You’re not him.” You hiss. “You keep that word out of your mouth around me.”

“I apologise, Detective. You seemed distressed, I thought it might help you feel better.”

“How do you-? How do you even know?”

“I already told you, Detective. I have all the data from my predecessors' missions stored.”

“But I don’t-“ You’re frowning - it makes no sense. And then your eyes blow wide with realisation. “What counts as a mission, exactly?” You’d assumed it had referred only to major tasks things like catching a deviant or completing a case.

“Everything - missions are usually broken down into several smaller tasks-“

“Like - ‘improve working relationships’? And ‘better facilitate the investigation’?”

It pauses, considering you before nodding. Heat rushes to your cheeks - which means… It probably knows… Everything. You bolt for the door - but don’t quite make it. Strong hands grab at your hips, pressing you up against the fridge from behind. Your brain short circuits - you should protest - but instead your silent, close to tears and quivering.

“I will not fail my mission, Kitten.” It’s Connors voice in your ear as it curls to whisper against the shell of your ear. “I am not designed to fail. You can pretend I am him if you want. I am basically the same, only better, I promise.”

His tongue trails up your earlobe and you let out a sob. You want to. You want to so badly it hurts. You want the comfort of his voice, his hands, his mouth… But it feels like such disloyalty.

“He is not coming back. Let me take the edge off, Kitten.”

“Isn’t.” You sob and you hate yourself for it. “He would say isn’t.”

A thoughtful hum, as one of the hands that had previously been bracketing your shoulders moves, to sweep up the back of your thigh.

“Duly noted, Kitten.” His murmurs, his other hand moving to sweep through the hair at the base of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses on your pulse points l, against your jaw, trailing to the nape of your neck. You’re shaking, trembling like a leaf - hating yourself - hating him, no it - and also hating Connor, for leaving CyberLife for taking him, and yourself again for being such a faithless fuck… He’d not been gone a week and here you were, being felt up in the precinct - where anyone could find you.

“Not here.” You say with sudden clarity, trying to shake him off. He pulls back - and you are grateful for small mercies. His height and his frame would have made him hard to fight off were he human - never mind mechanical. “C’mon. We’ll go… We’ll go somewhere else.”

Not too far though, you think, slipping past him - eyes averted - if the heat pooling between your legs is anything to go by.


	2. 002

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked. Y'all received. Still aiming for gender neutral so no specific mentions of fun parts - lemmie know if I've slipped up somewhere. Thank you all for your love and support of this literal trash.

You make it all of two blocks - into a dark and near empty parking lot. As you try not to think how needy that must seem, you start to drag him to the backseat sincerely missing his tie, having to use a fistful of fabric from his jacket instead. He follows with more grace than you lead with, kissing you, open-mouthed and with a surprising parody of passion.

It stings because with your eyes closed - he wasn’t wrong. He’s the perfect dupe. There is nothing elegant about thrashing about in the backseat of a car like horny teenagers and the situation - your partner… There is nothing dignified about this. You decide not to even bother with the pretence, shucking your jeans down off your hips and thighs with little preamble, turning away to press your face into the seat - back arched and ass in the air, a silent invitation.

“I didn’t realise there was any kind of rush, Kitten.” His hands sweep up your thighs and you just want him inside you - so you can stop thinking about it, stop your gut twisting with guilt. You groan and rock your hips back, hoping instead of desperate and weak you give an air of sultry and irresistible. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Just… C’mon.”

“Now, now, Kitten. That’s not how we do this, and you know it.”

Strong hands on your waist hoist you up, sweeping your legs from beneath you. In a fluid movement, he twists you, flips you and deposits your ass on the seat catching your lips in a bruising kiss.

You groan in quiet frustration, his hands are elsewhere - disposing of your jeans and underwear - to grant him access to your body - and he presses his weight between your legs - nothing satisfactory. You arch up against the pressure, rubbing, pleading silently for more. He does not oblige.

Instead, his hands tangle into your hair, his lips never leaving yours - and it’s like he’s trying to steal your breath with his tongue. By the time he tires, you’re shaking, and as he pulls back he catches your lip carefully between his teeth nibbling gently.

It’s enough to get you to open your eyes for the first time since you’d made it into the back of the car - and your eyes meet with his. They’re like a shard of ice through your heart but before you find the courage to look away, to close your eyes, to stop this - his gaze dips and his eyes close as his mouth moves from yours to pour a blazing trail of kisses along your jawline, his LED glowing yellow, illuminating the path he takes.

If you had been needy before - you aren’t sure what the word is for what you are now. Your desire, your want opens before you like a chasm at your feet - narrowing everything down to the pinprick in the universe that is your aching body. You forget, even, to feel bad.

“Please-“ The keening tome cannot be yours, surely? But it’s still spilling from your lips, bruised and blushing cherry red from his attention. “Please C- Please…"

“Please what, Kitten?”

You shake your head, you don’t have the words - but synthetic skin slips between your legs - you don’t have to. Throwing an arm across your face, you arch your back, rock your hips - telling him yes, silently.

His other hand works your shirt lower to expose your collarbones, lips finding them as his fingers find your entrance - light, so light, it’s almost an insult to call it teasing. You push down against his digits, desperate for pressure, trying to fuck him into you, but he’s having none of it - remaining just out of reach of your efforts until he’s ready.

But when he is, his forefinger plunges into you ruthlessly and without warning that he is about to switch tactics. Your eyes snap open and looking down at him, still diligently adoring your neck and chest, one finger pumping you patiently, with a little curl at each full extension that drops a match of need right onto that sweet spot that he’s so clearly targeting, you find yourself not instantly turning away.

Within minutes - you’re close - thighs shaking, breath trembling. You had taught Connor, how and where to touch you, how to drive you crazy… And it appears the memories have been put to good use. Your eyes are closed again, he had sped up a short while ago and when you’d started moaning each time his finger hit your core, he’d pulled back and started watching you, both hands working you, inside and out, closer, closer. “F-fuck.” You whisper and-

He stops, removes his touch completely. Your brain short circuits and you think - but you’re not actually sure - but you might actually shout ‘No!’ As the climax you were literally one stroke away from is denied. Before you manage to gather yourself to protest, to complain, to rail against your treatment - it’s back.

And it’s brought a friend.

Two of his fingers work you open, pushing you open, scissoring you wider - and his fingertips are there again in seconds. Your orgasm isn’t far behind, biting at their heels - and you’re actually a little afraid he might stop again.

“Please, p-please, please.” You beg over and over with each movement he makes, all other words you’ve ever known lost to the pressure he’s building.

He stops again and you could scream - in fact, you do - because instead of fucking you with his fingers - he merely presses them onto your weak spot - pulsing rapidly against it.

Your orgasm is loud and messy, one of his arms lift you, allowing you to rock your hips and fuck yourself, grind yourself down on the sensation as the waves of pleasure crash over you. The relief feels so good, face buried in his neck, hands in his hair that you feel tears springing up in your eyes.

His body leaving yours causes a low whine.

“Aw don’t be that way baby.”

It’s like he’s thrown a bucket of ice water over you and you pull back. Regret floods in, and now the ache of desperate need is gone - it is replaced with the ache of a good orgasm and betrayal.

You’re crying now - but it’s proper tears, flowing down your cheeks. “Don’t.” You whisper, horrified. “Don’t call me that-“

“I don’t understand, Detective. Connor never-“

“That’s right. He didn’t call me that.”

His LED swirls yellow. “Was that why you were not looking at me? I thought you had your eyes closed more than normal but I thought that perhaps-“

You don’t want to know what he - what it - thinks. You busy yourself with trying to find your clothes, as he lapses into silence, watching you.

“I am not him, Detective.”

“I know. Trust me. But you said- And I-“ More tears. You’re going to end up sobbing if you’re not careful, don’t compose yourself soon.

“I do not think we should do this again, Detective. The reaction you are displaying is not healthy. I do not think it has helped at all.”

“Fine by me.” You snap back, struggling into your clothes and the front seat. “That’s perfectly fine by me.”


End file.
